


Gone

by painty



Series: Across Time and Space [7]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Across Time and Space (ATAS), Angst, Bullying, Crying, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Grief, Guilt, Physical Abuse, Sadness, Samantha was just abducted, Sorry did I say angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, all angst, broken ribs, he’s 13, no happy parts, thoughts of self harm, william Mulder beats fox headcannon, young!Fox Mulder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 17:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painty/pseuds/painty
Summary: young!Fox Mulder || Fox talks about his life after Samantha is abducted. He skips school to do something he’ll forever regret. Very much pre-Across Time and Space (6).





	Gone

Fox really hadn't expected himself to be pushed this far.

In the past few months following his sister Samantha's disappearance, Fox's parents had become different. They spoke to him as if he were a complete stranger. They didn't even ask how he was, or how his day had gone. But... that's not what even hurt the most.

His father had hit him. Hit him. Not once in Fox's life had he been struck. Spanked? Maybe, as a child. But not like this. This was different. Being physically hit in the face was a terrible feeling. Fox hadn't even meant to spill the drink; he was just trying to help. He knew his parents were depressed. But... then his father punched him. In the face. And a horrible feeling crept into his heart but all he could do was stare at his father in shock.

"You're fine. Go away." The words still haunted Fox's mind. Every day he'd thought of them. And every day following that punch, he'd been hit more.

The first one had only been a small bruise. Hardly even noticeable on his cheek. But then his father started to take out the belt. Every time it had come back down on his bare skin he'd screamed. And he'd been abused more. 

"Don't fucking scream," his father had hissed. "Do you want me to punish you more? No. Stop."

And oh god had it hurt. It hurt so much more than the first time. It was like someone was dragging a dull knife through his chest, ripping open his skin and heart and crumbling it to the ground.

The nightmares hadn't been any help. Fox would wake up, screaming in terror, looking around for Samantha to help him, like she always had in the past. His fear of fires had dragged on every since he'd seen that house burn down, and he'd gone inside to see the ashes. That thought hadn't ever left him, and soon after he grew to hate fire. It was possibly even a phobia.

But when he'd had nightmares about it, Samantha had always been there for him. She'd helped him go back to sleep. It was like she was the bigger sister, even though Fox was two years older.

But now? When he'd cry into the night, his voice breaking, seeing Samantha being taken over and over again, no one came to his aid. His mother was always in bed or crying. Usually both. Even when he would sob into his pillow, or out loud, the guilt weighing him down so heavily, his mother would never come. She would sometimes just stare at him when he came into their room to sleep. Eventually they both told him he had to sleep in his own bed and to not come back in their room at night again.

Fox had been alone. He had no one to talk to—everyone at school made fun of him, mocked him. Told him he'd murdered Samantha. If only they knew what he'd seen. But those words? They hurt. He was seen as a killer. Or people made fun of him for his sister dying.

Fox had promised himself he wouldn't cut. He wanted to so badly; the razors were right there. But he didn't want to act weak. He was almost a teenager; he could handle this. So he tore his eyes away from any sharp edges, instead letting his mind rest in pain without taking it out on himself.

Every day became a routine. He'd wake up, take a shower and avoid cutting, make his lunch and his father's lunch for work, catch the bus for school, and get pushed around by everyone. Upon returning home, his father would drunkenly stagger over to him and tell him whatever he had to say. Then he'd get out the belt and tell Fox to hush. And Fox would; he'd learned to keep his mouth shut or he'd get beaten more. And his father made him bleed. Fox would hiss in pain in the shower, staring at the wounds and the older scars he'd gained.

It wore him down. He eventually grew so depressed he skipped days of school, just staying in bed or not going to the campus altogether. He hated the stinging words of his peers. He hated returning back home to his drunk father who would beat him and take his anger out on him.

Fox luckily wasn't punished for skipping. He wasn't scared about the school finding out—only his parents. But it turned out they didn't care. They didn't listen to their answering machine so any messages from the school office that came through never made it to their ears. Which was a relief, or Fox would probably get murdered. 

It was nice, though. He'd just lay in the dark and his parents would leave for work. They wouldn't even check whether he was still in the house or not. Of course, Fox still made his father lunch or he'd grow angry—but that was about it. He didn't have to do anything else.

His grades were dropping, however. Fox felt so terrible about himself because of it. If he'd been the one to get taken, not Samantha, then his parents would be happy. Because Fox had never been the favored child. He just wanted to please. But how could he change something that wasn't really even his fault?

However...things took a turn for Fox's mentality on his thirteenth birthday.

He was so proud. He was a teenager now. He felt so alive. So changed. Fox went to school in an amazing mood for once. His home room gave him the crown hat that said, "Happy birthday, Fox!" that he was allowed to wear all day.

Fox came home in a great mood as well. He was so excited. He'd expected presents, a happy birthday banner, anything... maybe even a non-drunk father that wouldn't hit him and an ecstatic mother that wouldn't cry all day. What more could he ask for?

Only... to come home to find that wasn't the case. His father was more drunk than ever. Fox was so terrified he ran up the stairs to escape.

His father chased after him.

Fox tried to lock his door, but his father was quicker. He was roughly grabbed and before he knew it, he'd been thrown down the stairs. Pain ripped through every bone in his body and he couldn't breathe. He began to cry, a panic attack coming on. His mother wasn't home, so his father just stared at him. 

Fox was taken to the hospital by his reluctant father. He'd had a broken rib and used the excuse he'd fallen down the stairs. As for the scars, he said he fell into a cactus pile (his father had told him to say that). And wow, they actually believed him.

His father was just too charming. He wasn't an abuser. He probably gave Fox everything he wanted. He was sure that's what they thought. But it wasn't true. It was never true.

More or less, Fox's birthday had been ruined. He felt so terrible about himself that after he'd healed he'd grown angry. He hated everyone. He lashed out at anyone that spoke to him except his parents. He continued to be beaten, the scars racking up and leaving Fox completely broken and grieving.

So now? Now, he was here. Staring out at the sunset, underneath the tree on a large sloping hill out in the plains. He was alone; Fox had completely skipped school and just... walked. He'd stolen a rope from the garage and made it into a noose.

Fox planned to kill himself. There was nothing to live for anymore. His sister was probably dead; she'd disappeared right in front of his eyes. His parents hated him. He was abused, physically and emotionally. His classmates told him he was a murderer.

Fox was done. He'd had enough. He was finished lying for his father. He hadn't broken his ribs from falling down the stairs. He'd been pushed. By the devil himself.

So Fox watched the orangey, painted sky for a while longer before reaching into his backpack and grabbing the rope. He threw it over the lowest branch and tied it together until it was perfect.

Wow. He was going to kill himself. Hang himself. This was it. These would be his last breaths, his last dying words and thoughts.

So Fox said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I love you Samantha."

And he let his head fall into the hole and let his body hang. And Fox suddenly couldn't breathe and he flailed his arms as everything in his body was seemingly cut off. God he was killing himself he was killing himself he was actually doing it this was it.

Fox didn't know how long he'd been hanging there, forcing himself to die and not let himself breathe and live. It seemed like hours but it couldn't have been. He would've been dead.

And suddenly, there was a loud crack and the branch snapped. Fox was winded as he hit the ground, gasping for air and curling into a ball, his fingers digging into the dirt below him. His lungs felt like they'd shrunken, hardly taking in any air. He choked on his breath and began to sob. The tears streamed down his cheeks and he realized how pained he really was for the first time in months.

Fox had tried to kill himself, and he'd failed. How pathetic was that?

But no one could find out. Ever. This had to be kept to himself. Everyone would tell him he was trying to die to escape prison for murdering Samantha. His father would beat him more. Fox couldn't have that.

Then he realized a sickening thought. He'd been out for so long. Many more hours than when he usually returned home. His father would be pissed. His mother was most likely freaking out at this moment. He was dead. Now Fox really wished he'd succeeded in taking his life.

After a longer while of crying, Fox suddenly forced himself to stand up. He left the noose—he couldn't return it back home. So he grabbed his backpack, threw it across his shoulders, and began the trek home.

It took Fox a long time to reach home. He was on his front porch and there were already stars twinkling in the sky, the moon rising ever so slowly.

Fox took a deep breath. His eyes darkened at the notion of what was about to happen to him. He already knew, but the teen was bracing himself for the pain.

And, willing himself to move, Fox entered the dark house. And what happened next wasn't something that would ever be spoken about again.

a/n: first young Mulder oneshot so yeah. Hope you enjoyed. Sort of a vent on shitty feelings but yeah I'm honestly surprised I haven't done one of these before. Mulder had such a terrible childhood I guess we're just now getting into it. So... expect more, I guess? He attempts suicide in college so might write that next when I'm upset.

Also notice how young Mulder doesn't cuss cause yeah he's a good kid and I call him "Fox", not Mulder. That's just cause he hasn't really told himself he hates his name yet. That's later.

Anyway. Yeah. There you go. Angst galore of me torturing a 13 year old. Thanks for reading.


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